Climax
by YamiTami
Summary: Spy has a plan. It involves the enemy medic and serum #34. //VERY M, general state of all these guys being insane, Scout and Spy are best friends for some reason//
1. Chapter 1

"Hey, Engie, when are we gettin' a new medic again?"

Our Engineer looked up from whatever it was he was building--could be anything from a rocket launcher to a smoothie blender--and eyed the two of us entering the 'living room.' At least, I assumed he eyed us. Hard to tell with those goggles sometimes. Scout was the one who spoke, well, whined, while I silently lit off a cigarette in mourning. The tie I donned for the day was no longer around my neck where it belonged. Instead it was serving as a tourniquet for the bullet wound in Scout's arm. The first aid machine would save the arm but not the tie.

"You got a problem with the medic we got?" Engineer asked the kid, the personally insulted feel creeping into his tone. The man treated the damn machine like it was his precious child sometimes. Scout caught the less than hidden threat and ran off to stick his arm in the thing. He knew he wouldn't survive that wrench in close quarters.

That just left me to speak reason. The concept of being the most reasonable person in the room was a strange one to say the least. Then again, people didn't end up in this place by being completely sane.

"Engineer," I sighed as the flavorful smoke left my lungs, "today we were lucky. Scout was outside their sniper's effective range, and the injury was caused by a fragmented ricochet. The first aid station will heal most of the damage, but not all." I gestured towards our illustrious leader, who was toying with a screwdriver almost threateningly. "We all know how proud you are of that device, and with good reason as its design is outside your usual field of things that go boom. However, if the injury was in Scout's batting arm he wouldn't be as effective in his job, which could get someone killed."

"Spy," he drawled, "I think you just don't want your pretty suit ruined."

I took another drag. "There is also that. When the new medic does get here, he owes me _six_ ties."

Engineer shook his head and returned to whatever he was screwing together. "We ain't worth enough for that. We get a new medic when someone dies. Maybe."

"Hm. I guessed as much." I had, too. It was no news to me that our lives were... 'undervalued' compared to the norm. But in return for the shortened life expectancy we got to have a _lot_ of twisted fun. I had no complaints. Usually.

Scout returned, less than thrilled about the no medic thing. He was new to the whole game but he caught on quick and didn't throw any tantrums about the team's combined net worth of about fifty bucks. Youngest I'd ever seen in the 'special forces' and for some reason it was my job to train him. It was a good think I liked the kid or I'd have led him over a land mine months ago.

True to form, the gloomy mood dissolved after about ten good seconds of pout. He flopped down on the couch (50% duct tape and rising) throwing his arms across the top and wincing when he jarred his newly healed wound. With perhaps the ghost of a non-sadistic smile I sat on the other end, unbuttoning my suit jacket in a rare display of the thing not being perfect. Tie was a lost cause; might as well go casual.

"Hey, speaking of medics--" Scout started and Engineer groaned. "_Their_ medic, boss."

That sparked some interest in both us older men; we barely had a fuzzy photo of the man's face. Know thy enemy and all that jazz...

"Anyway, before their sniper caught me and started firing, I managed to get close to the guy when he was trying to fix up Meat Shield." Ah, our affectionate term for their heavy weapons expert. This medic had to be good given that the big devil was still standing after all the lead we'd poured into him. "'Parently Meat Shield's one of those idiot sav-somethings..."

"Savants?" I supplied.

"Yeah, idiot savants. He said the medic has a crush on their sniper."

Eyebrows rose above goggles. I took another lazy drag. Finally, the enemy did something interesting.

"You sure?" Engineer asked, justifiably dubious. "What makes you think he's not just an idiot?"

Scout shrugged. "When Meat Shield said it the medic freaked out. Like, awkward middle school girl freaked out. Then he made Meat Shield promise never to tell their sniper about it."

Our illustrious leader stroked his chin in thought, leaving long streaks of dark grease along his jaw. "Could've been a set up."

"When the sniper started firing at me the doc looked like he was going to wet himself. Meat Shield was so drugged up he wouldn't notice if someone cut his balls off." He shrugged again, "Could still be an act, but if it is it's a damn one."

The greasy streaks grew to cover Engineer's forehead. "Hmmm... what'dya think, Spy?"

I put out the cigarette stub on the arm of the chair and flicked it towards the wall. "I think the kid's got a sense about this sort of thing. Maybe it's because he's fresh out of high school where kids can't stop thinking about it--"

"I was twenty when I got, uh, '_recruited_'"

"You have to remember that I'm an old, old man." True, for the most part. At almost forty-five I was the oldest member of the unit by six years. "You're going to have to hit twenty-nine before I stop calling you kid."

"'Kay then, in eight years I'll talk to you."

I actually had high hopes for the kid and his chances at living long enough to get back to the mundane world. Good as I am, I never should have seen thirty. It'd probably be a one-sided conversation.

"So, medic and his lil' crush?"

There was that threatening grip on the screwdriver again. I continued.

"I think we can trust Scout's instincts on this one. We'll still confirm it, of course."

"What are we on about?" came the loud and slurring entry of our Demoman.

Engineer gestured at me. "We found Spy a boyfriend."

Demo made some noise that was between a snort and someone drowning. "That mean pretty boy's gonna stop with me?"

"Oh, I'll _never_ stop with you, handsome," I said as I did my best approximation of batting my eyelashes flirtatiously. Which, ah, wasn't that good of an approximation. Perfect as I am, that's not one of my skills.

"Fag," Demo replied in what almost counted as an affectionate tone before setting to work on a bottle of our Sniper's moonshine.

------------

Scout and I were camped out on an outcropping of rock about a kilometer from the enemy's base. He was more of a run in and say hi with the bat type, and I was more the sneak in through the waterworks and butterfly your back type, so the stationary position grated on both of us. Unfortunately the reds were getting their new demolition expert that day, provided intel was correct. We needed a clue about the guy before we could go back to the fun stuff.

Plus, there was the checking up on the crush thing. Since the Medics were traditionally the ones to show the pups around and Sniper was keeping a lookout for the transport (and us) above their main door, we might get our confirmation on that matter.

"Damn desert," I muttered as I shifted on the uncomfortable rocks. True, I was wearing the suit I'd chosen to sacrifice to this purpose, but that didn't make it any less dusty. Scout grinned. Of course he grinned. He didn't think it was a successful day if he wasn't covered head to toe in dirt. He and Engineer should form a club dedicated to filth.

Unfortunately we only had one pair of binoculars that could handle the distance; the other two were cannibalized to make the first aid station. It was Scout's turn to watch their sniper take potshots at buzzards and the medic adjusting his gloves when the transport finally arrived.

"Hand them over," I told him, holding my hand out. With a sigh he complied, knowing I'd pull rank on him if he didn't. As the truck came round the bend I got a good look at their new Demo 'man.'

"Remind me to tell Demo his job can be done by a woman," I said as I held the binoculars out for the taking. "You'll enjoy staring at her cleavage more than I."

I barely had a chance to finish the sentence before he had the scopes pressed against his face. "Oh, _score_, look at her."

"I did," I replied with a touch of eyeroll.

"Man, I know you're not turned on by chicks, but you can't even appreciate the beauty there?"

I shrugged. "I never saw the point. Seems like breasts would just get in the way."

"They're _squishy_. Hot damn, she's gotta be a double D."

"I don't see the attraction." It was true. I never had a phase where I thought I could be straight or bi. Broad shoulders and stubble all the way.

There was a laugh that sounded like it suggested I was not right in the head. Which was true, but not in the sexuality area. Scout was lucky I already knew he wasn't out for conversions. The higher ups were smart enough to tell me why he was in the 'service' before putting him in my care; three jocks on his baseball team were going at a gay kid and he went batting practice on their heads. Never regretted it for a second. He made a good booking photo with spatter across his face and what was probably brain matter sitting on the bill of his hat, grinning like a maniac. Only reason I gave him a chance.

"So you don't like the boobs. What is your type? Demo?"

Yup, here was a rare on: a twenty-year-old athlete who was actually secure enough in his heterosexuality to occasionally ask a gay man baffling questions out of absent curiosity.

"That's just me being an annoying prick. Demo really isn't my type."

"Which is?"

"Sober."

A chuckle. "Yeah, that pretty much counts him out... Demogirl is getting out of the truck. I think she's... yeah, she's flirting with the doc. He looks like he doesn't know what to do with her."

I took the binoculars back. Definitely a vapid flirting stance. I wondered if this 'Demogirl' would do our job for us.

Scout hmmed. "How's the doc acting?"

"Awkward."

"Yeah, but socially deprived nerd awkward or blushing awkward."

I turned up the zoom. "Point... he's not blushing." I lifted my head and squinted into the sky, hardly believing I was saying this. "She's... hot, right?"

"Pull something there?"

I went back to watching the medic. "Possibly."

"She is _smokin'_ hot."

"I think we have our confirmation on his sexuality."

"He's not even a little turned on?" The shock was evident in Scout's voice. "Heh. Figures the first gay guy out here's on the other side."

"Not the first time it's happened."

"Suffer in silence a lot?"

"Usually. A few times in my younger years I seduced a few... 'Climax' came with a knife between the ribs."

Scout whistled. "That's cold man." Another chuckle. "Bet you got off on it."

I grinned. "Every time."

This is why I'm glad I didn't kill the happy young jock before discovering the sick bastard that lay beneath the surface. He definitely belonged in this twisted service.

The sniper jumped down from the doorframe and enthusiastically greeted Demogirl. "Odds don't look good for this romance."

Scout took the binoculars back. "The doc has the worst poker face ever. Does the sniper not see this?"

"You are a surprisingly perceptive straight man. You'd be surprised how much the general population misses."

"Aaaaaand they're inside." He scanned the base. "So what is your type, besides sober? Something like the doc, maybe?"

I was _fairly_ certain he wasn't dumb enough to suggest a relationship that crosses enemy lines. I wasn't a young man anymore and this enemy was as twisted and paranoid as we were. It was an interesting question, though, now that I had a good look at the guy. I considered.

"He'd _do_," I concluded. "Don't usually go for 60 plus, but he does look good for his age."

"All 'distinguished gray' and shit? Looks like my old chemistry teacher."

"He'd be too easy."

Scout sat up and started packing away the binoculars, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Too gentle," I clarified. "Not enough fight. I like a few bruises the morning after."

"You _would_." He stood and held out a hand to help the 'old man' up.

"What about you?" I asked as I was yanked to my feet. "What's your dream girl?"

"Brown hair, green eyes, someone who'll fight with me and love the make-up sex."

Figures. "She probably bakes too, huh?"

"I would be the happiest man in the world." The wince was almost undetectable. I'm the expert in undetectable.

"Your arm still hurt?"

He rubbed at it as if that would make it heal faster. "Flesh wound's gone, but it left a bruise that goes right to the bone. Nothing it can do about it."

This sort of thing was becoming a serious problem. If we weren't getting a new medic then we needed that machine to work better. I wouldn't mind much if I died tomorrow but not if it could have been prevented.

"Hey, Spy, why don't we just kidnap their medic, huh? We can threaten him into fixing the thing and you can have a boyfriend for a night."

Ah, the flitting muse, visiting in the most random moments.

"How the _hell_ did you get a plan out of that?"

My smirk was pure evil, I'm sure. "Oh, I have my ways." I started at a leisurely pace towards the base, pulling the pack from my jacket and lighting one off.

Scout followed, hands in his pockets. There was a slightly worried, mostly curious look on his face. "Is Engineer going to like this?"

"Probably not.

"Is he gonna okay it anyway?"

In answer I blew out a cloud of smoke.

"... You're going to have the time of your life with this, aren't you?"

The smirk got wider. "_Yes_."


	2. Chapter 2

Every member of the team was arrayed around the living room. Engineer was at his usual spot against the wall, surrounded by machine parts and grease. Soldier was seated next to him, cleaning his various weapons. Sniper was sitting on the arm of the couch, looking bored. Scout and I both were leaning against what served as our kitchen counter.

Demo paced the floor in a fury.

"_Yer sayin' what now!?_"

Any man less brave, or perhaps _more_ sane, would have flinched away from the rampaging and highly inebriated possessor of sticky bombs. Scout is less than sane. "I'm just givin' you the facts, man."

I took a long drag and relished both the flavor of the smoke and the look on Demo's face. "Scout is correct," I told the already frothing man, "I got in touch with an old contact and confirmed it."

"I don't believe it," Demo declared, sinking down on the couch and upsetting Sniper's position.

"Yes," I assured, a somewhat sadistic smirk forming on my lips, "_a__nd_, according to Scout, she's a double D."

"At _least_," the boy enthusiastically added.

Demo produced a bottle and took an unhealthy swig. I idly wondered if the first aid station could treat liver failure.

With the chuckle out of the way it was time to face reality as I continued the report. My investigation yielded the troubling news that this Demogirl was as crazy, and effective, as our Demo. Apparently her vapid nature was similar to the Scotsman's constant state of inebriation in that it was falsely disarming. Her addition to the REDs meant more injuries that we couldn't heal; their Gasmask already proved that the first aid station couldn't handle burns too well. He, or _it_, at least stayed in their base as a defender so I used to be the only one at high risk for the blaze. They'd be fools not to use this Demogirl in the actual field of battle.

Without a seriously improved medical situation, we were screwed. I didn't have to put that little fact into words; the room sobered before I'd even finished. Well, except Demo (who started chugging faster) but no surprise there.

"Whelp," Engineer said, looking grim even with his goggles in place, "do we have any bright ideas to get us out of this conundrum?"

Scout jerked his thumb towards me. His ever present grin was already gaining strength, as he already knew the plan. Since it was exceptionally insane he, of course, loved it.

I took a drag. The room stared.

"_Well_," Sniper said with his usual distain, "get to the point, ya fancy bloody wuss."

I ignored him, for the most part. While I'm not in any was 'above' cruelty, I did understand the weight settling into everyone's stomachs. However thin and chancy my plan was, we'd still have better odds with it than with sending another supply request to HQ.

"As has been previously discussed, the RED medic is interested in their sniper. This was confirmed today."

"I don' know what's sadder," Scout interjected, "how obvious the doc was or how oblivious rifle-head was."

I flicked my ashes and continued. "And, as has been proven, I can still infiltrate their base through the air vents."

"You said those things don't go anywhere important, right?" Engineer asked.

I nodded. "They were, sadly, intelligent enough to make the control areas inaccessible. All the doors will set off the alarm if tampered with and impassable obstacles have been placed in the airways. However, I can only guess due to budget restrictions, at last check they have not closed off the vents in their private rooms."

"Well there's a bloody fine idea. Spy your way in, shank the wanker, and then get your ass blown off once the alarm goes."

Sniper was referring to the tag monitors the RED Medic received on some experimental visa. Small disks worn at a pulse point or over the heart that sent a signal to their alarm system if the heart rate was out of the ordinary. When they first got the prototypes Sniper and Demo had some fun throwing rocks at their windows as it were, the noise raising their heart rates enough to set the alarm off in the dead of night. Three months of tweaking later and the devices could differentiate between startled and under attack. They'd certainly be able to tell when the heart stopped beating a few seconds after a blade was inserted between the ribs.

We intercepted one message that revealed I was the specific reason for the things. I would almost feel proud if they didn't make my job so fucking difficult.

"I'm not going to be stabbing anyone in the back," now there's a phrase that was just strange to hear coming from my lips, "I'm simply going to be... paying a visit to the good doctor."

"Come again?"

Scout interjected again, "He wants to give the guy wet dreams."

A few eyebrows were raised. Demo, heavily intoxicated even by his standards, bellowed what I interpreted as a demand for an explanation.

"I will sneak into their base and enter the medic's room via the vents. I will be disguised as their Sniper." I raised a hand to halt the flood, "_Yes_, the certain magic that enables me to copy a man's appearance doesn't extend to touch. However, I am of similar enough build to their sniper to do a passing job. With a little help, of course."

I reached into my jacket and pulled out a small metal vial with '34' etched into the side.

"This serum," I explained as I held the vial high, "is designed for use in interrogation sessions. A dose heightens the senses and makes the most out of the interrogator's... questions, as well as the usual amount of mental disorientation to help loosen the lips."

"Wouldn't that trip them gadgets?" Engineer asked as he stroked his chin. At least this time there were only slight smudges left behind and not long black streaks.

I returned the vial to my jacket. "A full dose would almost certainly trip the sensors since the serum causes arrhythmia in most subjects. However, a diluted dose would have an effect more like a mild hallucinogenic, which should fall within their tolerance range."

"He wants to give the doc a roofie." Scout was decidedly too enthusiastic about this plan. And I'd been around Demo for far too long if I could accurately translate his raving into a request of guarantee.

"I can't promise that the drug will work to our advantage. He may be aware enough to see through my disguise or the effect may be strong enough to trigger the sensors." The risk was high, to say the least. Many would mistake my volunteering for such a shaky mission as the action of a team player. Surprisingly, to myself more than anyone, they would be partially correct. I'd almost grown fond of the merry bunch of lunatics.

However, the main reason was the job. It was my duty to 'sneak and destroy' as Scout often put it, and I'd been unable to follow through for quite some time. I was the most expendable and the only one who had a chance of success.

"Nothin' we do has any guarantee," Engineer said at last, still open to the idea but not ready to okay until he had all the facts.. "What're you gonna do once the medic's had some 'a that?"

"Have some fun--"

"Scout, do you _mind_?"

By that point he knew the difference between 'annoyed' and 'about to butterfly you like a shrimp.' While he was still bouncing back and forth on his heels like a sugar-high kindergartener, he shut up.

I continued. "At this state of... inebriation, the medic will likely think that what comes to pass was a dream. Thus the use of their sniper since he's probably already among the medic's dreams given the blatant looks the man was giving him today."

"So what's the 'sniper' gonna do?"

I flicked away the butt of my cigarette and looked towards the ceiling. This was where the plan became extremely patchy. I chose my words carefully.

"The 'sniper' will seduce the medic."

A round of loudly declared 'what's, and a loud 'fag' from Demo.

I shifted my gaze to Engineer. "Medigun technology is not a field you've mastered--"

"_Yet_."

"_Indeed_. But if you had the components to a medigun you could reverse engineer it, correct?"

I could see Engineer was starting to get where I was going with this. One could never tell Demo's state of mind and Sniper still hadn't caught on.

Solider finally had something to say. "How does fraternizing with the enemy accomplish this mission?"

"If the medic opens the safe of his own free will, there will be no alarms. If a member of his own team, a man he's taken with, asks him to open the safe while he's drugged, he might."

"Dangerous," Sniper needlessly commented. I knew full well what kind of risk I was taking.

Engineer sighed heavily and stood, grabbing a half empty beer as he did. "We'll sleep on it. More discussion in the morning. Soldier, first watch."

We all drifted off to our rooms or posts. I knew there was no use arguing and that running off without approval from the team would result in a justified wrench to the skull. By morning's light the decision would be made.


	3. Chapter 3

The wing of the RED base dedicated to sleeping quarters had much smaller vents than the control and construction areas. I slowly crawled through, hardly daring to breathe, barely making the fit despite my slim build. To my surprise the problem was not dust but a thin layer of grimy soot radiating from their 'kitchen.' I guessed that it was Gasmask's doing though I could not guess the reason. All I knew was that it was going to take a lifetime to get it out of my suit.

Despite the tight fit and the grime, I was grinning ear to ear.

The new defensive countermeasures, particularly those damned heart monitors, had significantly hampered my ability to do my job. As intel was next to impossible to collect during the quiet hours, I had to solely rely on intrusions during firefights, when the monitors were useless. I'd often come back with blood on my suit. Mine.

It was fine until our old medic was given a combination execution and cremation courtesy of Gasmask, almost coinciding with severe damage done to my cloaking device that was yet to be repaired. I could still sap sentries using disguises, but with the cooling device in the cloak broken entering their base became impossible. Sadly, cloaks and mediguns were both in the narrow realm of mechanics Engineer doesn't know forwards and back. I compensated by reestablishing the outside network, even obtaining all their dossiers, but that didn't provide the real time intel we needed.

This hare-brained scheme could only end poorly, but at least I was doing _something_.

I finally reached my destination and clicked on my cloak, hoping the room wasn't hot enough to kill it before the tasks' completion. Silently I removed the grate and then affixed it to the wall using a couple dabs of goo from Demo's sticky bombs. Grabbing the metal rafters and lowering myself to the ground was a reminder that I wasn't twenty anymore, but I did succeed in getting down without noise. A feat indeed as the medic's workbench was directly under the vent. Various tools were scattered across its surface; no parts. If I wasn't barely breathing I would have sighed. If only it was that easy.

Beside the desk was the safe that contained my objective, fully secured. The wall to my right contained several boxes which appeared to serve as the medic's closet and a cabinet which likely contained medical supplies. To my left, the door and a small crate with the man's gloves, glasses, tie, and clock sitting on top. Across from the vent lay the means to my end, sleeping on a mattress set on a couple pieces of broken beams. The room was barely longer than the bed and little floor was left exposed. Little room to run if he discovered me.

The medic was lying on his back, head to the wall, still in his shirt and trousers. After a cautious minute I determined he was still asleep and unaware of my presence. No surprise there as my entry was flawless, but a good spy always checks. Otherwise they end up a dead spy very quickly.

I knelt down next to his makeshift night table and pulled the vial of diluted and altered serum from my pocket. It took a little fiddling but I was able to alter it from an injection to an ingested drug (successfully and amusingly tested on Sniper). With a small length of string I dribbled three drops between his slightly parted lips. It did not wake him, the fluid almost tasteless and warmed by my body heat. He only swallowed, readjusted, and then remained still save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

I counted the seconds in my head as I waited for the drug to take effect. After rolling up the string and returning the serum to my pocket I stood and more closely inspected the man's belongings. I didn't dare open the potentially squeaky desk drawers, and the items across the top were neither unique nor terribly important. Nothing was hidden amongst his clothes in the boxes and there were no hidden compartments in his boots. After some careful consideration I took the risk of opening the cabinet; luckily the doors were well oiled. The contents were disappointing; only a stack of blank medical charts, a box of cheap pens, and a row of pill bottles. Even if I could afford to steal medicine the medic likely kept close track of, there was nothing there we didn't already have.

I glared at the safe and the small blinking light indicating the alarm system was armed. Here was my nemesis. I would prevail.

Once I was sure that a man of any drug tolerance would be feeling the effects (except possibly Demo), I pulled a second vial from my jacket. I swished the thick syrup around my mouth before swallowing the excess; an agent to nullify any lingering serum. It wouldn't do to be drugged myself, after all. I then activated my disguise kit, assuming the appearance of the RED sniper. Shaggy blond hair, close-set gray eyes, this odd turn to his nose... I felt thankful that our Sniper was handsome. I'd rather disembowel myself than tell _him_ that, but the aesthetics were certainly better on our side of the battle line.

Still cloaked, I studied the medic for a moment more and wondered where the attraction lay. True, we hadn't seen enough of their sniper to get a round estimate of his personality, but first impressions were rather sour. Particularly the way he practically threw himself at Demogirl's cleavage. I mentally shrugged. Maybe the medic was just hopelessly drawn to hopelessly straight men. Besides, it's best not to look a gift horse too closely in the mouth. Even in this desert and this fight.

It was time to get to work.

I left the cloak on and leaned against the desk; if he woke and the drug was not effective there was still a chance I could get away. I started with barely audible mumbles of nothing in particular, testing the waters. I gradually raised my volume to the barest whisper. The medic still did not stir. Another raise in voice, toeing the line between whisper and quiet speech. He moved slightly, his face showing recognition. I continued, fading from that volume back down to mumbles and back again. He was aware of my, or rather, the sniper's voice, but he was not awake. Still in the land between dreams and reality, I decided, held there by the serum. Science is a beautiful thing.

I took a slow and deep breath, soundless. The high I felt on my way in had faded in the face of the mission. I was steady. I took the next step.

I knelt next to the night table again, farther away than when I drugged the man, barely within reach and with a clear path to the desk should the need arise to hide under it. The cloak disengaged with the barest static crackle; he did not seem to notice. Sitting there with the sniper's appearance I again whispered until that touch of recognition crossed the medic's face. Slow, steady, I reached out my hand and gently brushed his cheekbone while softly saying 'medic.'

A frown. A sigh. He drifted back down. Again, this time touching the line of his jaw. A greater stirring. A deeper frown. The third time I used more pressure, still light but not a feather touch. When I touched his lips, his head flopped towards me and his eyes opened the tiniest fraction.

"Sni..." he managed, groggily, before being pulled back into twilight.

I whispered some more, fading to nothing. I decided that was enough for the first night. I reengaged the cloak, eased myself into the vent feet first, and reattached the grate. Gone without detection. The first night, a success.

-------

_Despite_ the first night being a perfect success it took around three hours to convey that fact to the team. It seemed I didn't fully convey the concept of the plan. Mostly the 'taking at least a week' part of it. Or maybe I left that out intentionally since Engineer's hardhat sometimes seems too tight.

"I was under the impression that I'd be reverse-engineering _right now_--"

I took a long, calming drag off my cigarette. I knew this was coming but it was still beyond annoying. "This serum was developed for use in brainwashing. It has a cumulative effect and works well with repeating patterns. It will take time before the dream has fully taken root--"

"It won't take my time for my boot to fully take root in your--"

"Wankers," we were greeted by a just-woke-up Sniper. He grabbed his mug, his pot of the sludge he liked to call coffee, and headed for the door.

Soldier decided it was time to chime in, drill sergeant tone turned up to the maximum setting. "What kind of tactics do you think you're using?"

"_Spy tactics_." You air-headed morons, I did not add. At least Demo had wandered off, deeming the conversation less interesting than things that go boom. Scout followed in agreement. That left me against the hard-heads.

"You blokes have no patience." The three of us looked at Sniper, lingering in the doorway. "Give it a week. _Then_ bite his fruity head off."

I realized that I momentarily felt grateful for the fact that someone understood the importance of waiting. I shook it off before I could start liking Sniper. It was bad enough that Scout managed it.

Engineer grudgingly agreed to a week and stomped off to do something with his gears and wrenches and grease. Soldier, of course, refused to surrender the fight. It took me an hour to get the flour out of my sleeve but the impromptu smoke bomb was effective. Wondering what component of his bombs used unbleached bread flour, I sauntered off to the field with binoculars in hand. With an actual job to do once night fell, the daytime slog didn't seem that bad.

-------

The second night was much like the first, minus the taut apprehension in the face of the complete unknown. It was still one of the more dangerous things I'd ever done, to be sure, but at least I had a clearer view of the road ahead. I repeated the pattern, drugging him, waiting, gradually building to a loud whisper. I pushed the touch slightly further, still ever mindful that I had to take this slow, spending perhaps a minute ghosting over the side of his face. Again he stirred, groggy and unfocused due to the drug, and mumbled incoherently. I left it at that.

-------

The third night I began to pick up the pace; while this had to take time there was only so much time I could take. I upped the dose by two drops to facilitate the change. Less time spent on the whispers, more time spent on the touches. I let my hand grow heavier, still gentle and light but in full contact with his skin. I strayed from his cheek and jaw to trace what neck was exposed. No longer at arm's length, I leaned in close and trailed my breath along his ear.

His reaction to that was both greater and less than those from the first two nights; his eyes remained half-open but the awareness was severely dimmed. I waited until he was on the brink of losing consciousness before laying a simple kiss on the corner of his mouth. He faded back into sleep and I took my leave.

-------

My fourth visit was much like the one before, apart from a few extra chaste touches of my lips to his. I also began answering his mumbled, confused questions of 'sniper?' with a low and heady tone. He began moving more than his previous slight shifting, trying to reach up and touch me with ungloved hand, but I didn't pull him far enough from his drugged sleep to do so. As I crawled out that night I mentally cackled with glee.

So far, he was fooled. It was _working_.

-------

The next night saw another increase in serum, up to seven drops, and a much heavier hand. I knelt close to the mattress, leaning over him, and when his eyes opened I met his lips in a slightly wetter chaste kiss. I then teased, trailing down his neck, along his jaw, and when he reached up to touch my face I let him. This was the moment, make or break, but he did not distinguish the fabric of my mask with the jagged cut of the RED sniper's hair. Breathing a genuine sigh of relief across his ear I praised the power of suggestion and the research done to make it law in the serum's victims.

Sure that he was fooled, at least, as sure as I would let myself be, I continued the light pecks across his face. He was confused, hesitant, but I had to let him think this 'dream' was truly his. Finally, he took the next step and pulled me down. His tongue was sluggish but he slowly gained confidence. Not the most thrilling kiss of my life, to be sure, but I supposed it wasn't bad for a man heavily drugged and in the process of light brainwashing. I let it continue until he broke away. The action was too much for his diminished state and his arms soon slid from my neck. With a few parting touches and low whispers of definite intent, I was gone.

Dull as it was, that night was enough to remind me of how long it had been since I was pressed against another hot body. I suppressed the surge of hormones on the journey back, but the moment I reached the relative safety of our base the floodgates broke.

I rushed to my room, silently thankful that this was an ungodly hour of the night even for this team, and all but slammed the door shut when I got there. I locked it by way of a chair under the handle, just in case Scout decided to check up on me post-mission, and then I fell against the wall. Feeling the rough wooden texture even through my shirt and suit jacket I wasted no time, fumbling with my pants one handed while I pulled the other glove off with my teeth. I was uncoordinated under the onslaught of raw, animalistic hormones, so it took _far_ too long. Finally I was fumbling skin against skin, no time even for a faceless fantasy, coming with a strangled shout almost before it began.

I sank down the wall, uncaring of wrinkles I was putting in my suit, and lit off a cigarette. I sucked down a third of the thing in one breath, letting the hot smoke escape slowly as I tried to collect myself. The fact that I preferred roughness, rough hands and rough stubble, did not help the situation. Both Sniper and Engineer fell within my interests; perhaps I tried hating them more than the others in some unconscious move to distance myself from temptation.

Stubbing out the ashes I kicked off the mess of my suit and fell into bed wearing only my briefs, my mask, and the remaining glove.

I needed a vacation. Something more substantial than my hand. Maybe after this mission's success I could negotiate a day in the closest settlement to search for a lean body to pin against something. Or I could just suck it up like I had for the past _five years_.

I sighed, rolled over, and went to sleep. No use complaining about an occupational hazard. Not at my age, anyway.

-------

The sixth visit was routine despite the raging hormones spawned the night before. Luckily the slow and groggy nature of the medic's kisses kept me well grounded. Drugged or not, he seemed awfully submissive and lax. There was no way I'd be even slightly turned on by him if it hadn't been so damned long. I would have bet money the man liked all that mushy romantic nonsense. If he was an actual conquest the act could only leave me unfulfilled: no fight for top (which I'd take anyway), no bruises, probably only the mellow sort of desire that simply didn't have enough _fire_. I wondered if the RED sniper liked that sort of thing and entertained myself on the way out by thinking up schemes to get them together, despite the sniper's obvious homophobia.

-------

The next day brought bruises of a less pleasing nature. During the day's fight it became necessary for me to tackle their sniper to the ground; why he was in the thick of things instead of in some tower was beyond me. Unfortunately he was _much_ stronger than I and the scope of his rifle left Scout's back only after I grabbed the crotch of his pants and licked the shell of his ear. If I wasn't so busy keeping his bowie knife out of my kidney I'd have laughed at the mix of outrage and disgust on his face, not to mention the stammered slurs. Poor medic. He didn't have a chance.

The struggle ended with a deep gash in my side and several broken ribs, and he limped away with my butterfly knife still embedded in his thigh. Scout actually found my weapon after an unnecessary run between the outcropping and the RED base, presenting it to me with a flourish while I was still in the creaking first aid station. I was starting to realize the extent of the soft spot I'd developed for him and the rest of the team. I had to be getting old if I was growing sentimental. At length I decided I didn't mind so much since this group was the best I'd ever had the displeasure of working with.

Even Sniper expressed concern, or at least as close as he got to it, over my intent to continue the plan that night. While the first aid station healed the worst of it my ribs and side were still heavily bruised; I'd be much easier to bring to the ground if I was caught. However, I couldn't afford to waste this perfect opportunity. Their sniper was injured. Even though the glow of a medigun flashed before he made it back to their base, the medic could still be convinced that his love needed healing in his dreams. There would never be a better opportunity to ask the man to open the safe.

There was only one option. I could see that Engineer knew that even though he argued at first. Once night fell I made my way across the wasteland.

I almost regretted my decision when I got inside. The turns in the ventilation shafts were uncomfortable to begin with; with my side and chest bruised almost to the point of hemorrhage it was excruciating. If I didn't have so much practice in withstanding torture I would have been far worse than sweating hard and breathing heavily by the time I reached my target. After a quarter of an hour spent gathering myself I lowered myself from the vent.

When my feet touched the desk there was a faint crunching and some less than faint clinks; I froze. When I could hear the medic's breathing, slow and even, above my own pounding heart, I looked down. Along with the usual tools scattered across the top there were several gears, bunches of wires, small cylindrical canisters, and one large red tank. His equipment must have taken some damage during the day's fight.

I swallowed hard, and remembered Scout's claim that using the first aid station temporarily affected his aim. I previously believed it to be an exaggeration of youth, but I had not yet forgotten to check the desk before lowing myself. If my mental state was compromised along with the physical...

I carefully and deliberately dismounted the desk and took stock of the room; nothing out of place except that the medic fell asleep with his boots and gloves still on. I worried about this anomaly even though it was easily explained by the extent of the injuries inflicted upon the REDs that day: exhausted from his work the medic fell into bed. I wondered if I was confused enough to miss some important detail. After a long and careful consideration, I decided that I really had to do something about this soft spot for the team. The sentimentality was going to get me killed.

I withdrew the vial and dosed the man with a round ten drops. I longed for a cigarette to calm my nerves. Instead I pinched my arm sharply, several times, to try and clear the fog. This had to be done correctly. The pain in my side felt greater than an irritated bruise; I would likely need another healing session once I returned to the base. The pain gave me focus, kept me constantly reminded of why this mission was so important.

I continued the program, beginning with a whisper and a touch. His eyes opened groggily and he reached for me. There were several minutes of fumbling and I couldn't quite hide the wince when his wandering hands found the injury in my side. I escalated, pressing my thigh between his legs, hoping it would distract him from any abnormality in my behavior. He seemed surprised by the contact, jerking slightly even as he moaned. I reached a hand between our bodies and stroked him through his trousers. He squirmed, the hand previously probing my injured side falling away. Encouraged, I whispered a few generic nothings in his ear as I pressed harder.

Suddenly there was an intense pain in my side, more intense than when a blade was buried in it. A hot, unpleasant flame radiated out and seemed to consume my entire body within seconds. There was a slight clatter and I looked to the side, gasping, recognizing the outline of a syringe on the floor. I tried to get away despite there being nowhere to run, discovering it was of little consequence as I couldn't seem to move. Gloved hands grasped my shoulders roughly and before I knew it I was on my back with a very _large_ serrated blade pressed against my neck.

I'm embarrassed to say that I never saw it coming.


	4. Chapter 4

With more force than I thought the medic had he manhandled my arms into position and bound my wrists with my own tie. He then pushed them out of the way, above my head, before readjusting the saw at my neck and rummaging through my open jacket with his free hand. He glared at the small metal vials before throwing them to the side. My revolver was removed, unloaded, and tossed away along with the holster. My knife followed not far behind.

When the silver case was pulled from its pocket the disguise puffed away and the medic's glare intensified tenfold. What was interesting is that the glare seemed more directed at himself than at me, though I didn't have the luxury to ponder his apparent self-reprimand with all my weapons and devices gone, not to mention the effects of whatever that syringe contained. It didn't seem to be clouding my mind; if anything it cleared it. However my body did not seem mine to control, my limbs unresponsive though not numb. A powerful muscle relaxant, perhaps? No matter. Whatever it was it was doing its job and that's all I really needed to know.

I considered my situation as the medic continued searching my person, unnecessarily as he'd already found everything. I was incapacitated, bound by strong and durable silk, and pinned to the mattress by the medic's weight. Even if I had full use of my legs it was unlikely that I would be able to get out from under him and even if I did there was no where I could go. If I opened the door I would be greeted by a grumpy Gasmask or that great laughing soviet behemoth. Leaving the way I came would be laughable. Besides, there was that wide jagged blade pressed against my neck, leaving pinpricks through my mask with not that much pressure.

I never thought that I'd quite be this accepting when facing my imminent death. I was mostly amazed that it took so long to get to this final stand.

However, there was one thing I wanted to know before my execution. It was hard to make my throat work, to make my tongue move properly, but I managed to get the one word out:

"How?"

The slightest pause told me the medic heard me, but he did not stop his search until he was sure no toys remained. He then tilted his saw towards my chest so it was still in clear contact with my jugular but at an angle better suited for looking at me. I repeated it with the calm that came with the knowledge my question was a simple curiosity; knowing wouldn't change the course of events but it would be nice to know.

The medic seemed to realize this. After a long consideration he decided to be charitable. "I have never remembered my dreams."

"I see." It was not so hard to move my mouth that time; perhaps the drug metabolized quickly. It was still no matter as it seemed the medic was stronger than I, a man built for lithe and flexible intrusions through grimy air vents. Still trapped; still didn't know. "Why... did this... take... seven...?"

"Because I thought..." he looked to the side. The muttered '_dummkopf'_ didn't seem to be directed at me. Ah, the human heart, the greatest betrayer of all. The sniper's reaction to my... attentions must have broken through whatever romantic hope was delaying this predicament of mine. I didn't have to ask why the night's dose didn't affect him; the serum was designed to linger in the bloodstream for days, and its effectiveness was bought at the cost of stealth. Even with limited equipment he could have easily isolated the compound and created a counter-agent in the time between their sniper's outburst and my return to his room.

I had my answer, I'd lived a longer life than I should, and I had some incredible fun along the way. I closed my eyes and bared my neck to the jagged blade; I wouldn't be talking under any torture anyway so it would be nice to skip that unpleasant phase. The medic didn't seem to be biting. I sighed and resigned myself to a messier end. It was probably what I deserved.

However, after many long moments with no action whatsoever, I opened my eyes and looked up at my captor. I couldn't begin to describe the look on his face beyond the word 'conflicted.' I was curious as to why he hadn't killed me or alerted his team to my presence, and since my life was already forfeit I figured, hey, what the hell.

"Well? What... are you... waiting... for?"

Some decision crystallized in the medic's eyes. There was still that flavor of mostly self-directed rage, but it was accompanied with a hunger I was beginning to understand. My hunch was confirmed when he shifted and leaned forward.

The breath on my ear was hot and the metal at my neck cool when he whispered his intent. "It has been four years. Do not struggle, ja?"

It's an interesting situation, to be held at knifepoint and be told not to struggle. It wasn't the first time it happened to me though it was the first time it was a surprise; in my younger years it was a fabulous way to get close to a target, and they even supply the knife. Legitimately being _caught_ was an embarrassment to be sure, but as it took thirty long years for it to happen I couldn't feel too ashamed about it.

I couldn't feel too opposed to the good doctor's offer either. After all, it would be a _shame_ to end my eventful life on a dry spell.

Swiftly he pushed up my shirt and vest far enough to lay those jagged teeth on my stomach before dismounting the bed. Kneeling there he fumbled with my belt and trousers, the friction and the feel of that deadly saw already setting me off. When he tugged at the fine pinstripe fabric I obligingly lifted my hips. That gave way to a pause and a momentarily raised eyebrow, but when he looked back at the hunger in my eyes he seemed to understand. Choosing not to dwell on what would generally be considered bizarre behavior, he repeated the process with my underwear.

I suppose I made a sight, laid out naked from the waist down, wrists bound by my own tie, jacket open and shirt riding up. Or perhaps the medic was just that desperate. Whatever the reason I saw my own animalistic lust mirrored in his eyes. He shifted on his knees, spanning the short distance to his desk without removing his saw from my stomach. Oh yes, the prospect of that jagged thing cutting into my flesh and spilling forth all that lay within was far more effective than a simple gushing bleed at the neck. I was beginning to comprehend the fact that he was not the soft man I assumed him to be. He would probably enjoy the sight of me fumbling with my innards while half naked and bleeding to death on his mattress.

The thought only made me harder. I suppose it was a sure sign that I'm not quite right in the head, but then I've known that for decades.

He retrieved something from the bottom drawer and turned back to the bed. He exerted some warning pressure and the saw teeth dug a shallow line into my skin, at the same time pressing something smooth, cool, and rounded into my heavily bruised side. I gasped; kidney injuries have that unique power to take the breath out of you. He dropped the object onto my chest and got back on the bed, leaning against the corner of the room by my feet. With a slight nod and a marvelously sadistic look on his face he gave the permission to examine the object. I brought my bound wrists to my chest and turned the small metal canister in my hands.

Though I tried, I couldn't suppress the moan that escaped my lips when I saw the simple label adorning the surface. When the flat of that jagged blade touched my knee and gently _suggested_ the next course of action, I ceased to care.

I bent my knees and spread my legs farther in compliance with that cruel saw even as I awkwardly unscrewed the lid. I scooped out a generous portion and let the canister roll off my body to ching to the floor. Though it was the dead of night the distant moon offered just enough light to lock eyes with my captor. Grinning, I smoothed the stuff over my fingers, uncaring as to what it would do to the leather. Grinning, I slowly trailed those fingers down my chest and stomach, still unblinkingly staring at the man against the wall. He stared unblinkingly back, unfazed save for the slightest hitch in his breath when I touched the bed of short curls between my legs.

There's something undeniably and unequivocally erotic about using gun lubricant in such an act.

I forwent toying with my own need; though I could be a horrible tease I hadn't lost sight of this situation, and I know that he hadn't either. I only had the time it took for him to lose control, and given the tenseness in his frame and the pink tongue that darted out to lick his lips, I didn't have much time. The sharp points again graced my skin, pressing against my inner thigh as I curled upwards to prepare myself. It was his turn to moan when I pushed those slick fingers in with no hesitation and almost no resistance. I worked myself madly as he opened his trousers and pumped his length with his free hand. It didn't take long for his patience to snap.

With a growl sounding more animal than human he lifted his blade--in both senses. The saw found its way back to my neck and the blunt tip pressed against me. Even though I'd... _entertained_ myself through these long lonely years I did not possess the certain flexibility that would enable such a sudden intrusion with no sharp pains lancing up my spine. The medic took no heed to my winces, mindful only of his own pleasure.

No pretense of romance, no half-meant justification, there was nothing standing between us and the sheer, simple beauty of a purely truthful relationship.

The guttural nature of the German language was perfectly suited to the violent act; though I had no idea what things he was calling me the very sound of his snarls cut through the discomfort and sent my own need weeping. He shifted and lifted my hips higher to better facilitate the penetration of my body, and I took the momentary liftoff his blade to again raise my arms above my head. The trace of an amused grin passed across his face and then it was gone, replaced by the ragged breaths, the slapping flesh, the smell of sweat just _almost_ overwhelming the tang of blood and well-used steel...

It was heaven.

I don't know if it was courtesy, habit, or accident, but towards the end he hit that place of pleasure with almost every stoke. Not that I needed it to reach my peak when embroiled in such a shamelessly carnal deed, but with the added sensory overload it nearly shattered me. He finished a few thrusts after when I was just reaching the crest of blinding lights, joining me with a surprisingly subdued grunt after all that streamed from his mouth before. He filled me, a feeling so foreign after so long a drought and so much more appreciated. My own release was soaking through my shirt and promptly smeared across his when he half-collapsed, digging the saw into my mask and neck with the force.

Another few moments were spent catching his breath, and then he was kneeling beside the bed once again. With the blade at my sticky stomach he unknotted my tie, releasing my wrists. With that famous cold German efficiency he simply said, "Dress."

It took me a second or two to catch up to the logic: at least one member of his team was homophobic and thus presenting the half naked body of the enemy would be less than intelligent. Might as well have the prisoner do it while still breathing to save the trouble later... or he was doing the smart thing and was already planning my torture. The only trouble was that my legs seemed to _not be working_. What's almost comical is that I'm fairly certain that whatever he drugged me with had long since worn off; it was simply _that_ damn good.

With some effort I managed to roll off the bed, almost falling in his lap in the process, and began gathering my clothing. I wiggled into my underwear without care of how unrefined I was being; however I couldn't bring myself to do the same to my already creased and soot-streaked trousers. I began to stand, wobbled, and fell. The sheer absurdity of the situation hit me and I started laughing, albeit quietly, and could not seem to stop.

The medic was somewhere between 'is he laughing at_ me_' and 'the man's gone mad.' I tried to hold it in but it was impossible to escape the fantastic humor in the whole affair. There I was, the seasoned Spy who once used his body as a sexual weapon every other mission, who'd fucked and been fucked in all corners of the world and by every quality of man, and yet I was so absolutely and ludicrously _sated_ after a ten minute screw with the enemy medic.

The look on said medic's face was beginning to suggest that I'd better have a good explanation for my sudden and obvious insanity or the quality of my death would plummet. I managed to quiet my mirth to an undignified snigger and answered his growing curiosity and offense.

"I cannot stand," I said, truthfully.

He frowned, his expression taking on a hint of impartial researcher.

"You should not still be affected by the--"

"I'm _not_," I interrupted emphatically. The snickers refused to be contained and I resigned myself to putting on my suit pants while sitting. "That sniper of yours is _truly_ an idiot," I added without thought, and I'm not sure why I said it. I didn't look at him as I was re-lacing the shoe that somehow got kicked off in the lack of struggle, and when I raised my eyes again he had turned away.

"I don't suppose you would allow a dying man a last smoke?"

"That is bad for you," came the automatic sounding reply, distracted and distant. I took it as a no and sighed in regret. The only possible way to make that hour more perfect would be to send it out with the flavorful and mellow taste of a fine cigarette, especially after such an aggressively wonderful coupling. I itched for one and turned my stare to the case still lying on the floor. I was distracted from my secondary lust when the medic stood and pointed his blade towards me without meeting my eyes.

I grinned in resignation and shakily made it to my feet with the help of the desk, ready to meet my end.


	5. Chapter 5

Engineer was camped out in his corner of the living room, surrounded by tools and broken scraps of metal. He hummed as he worked, the low noise fading in and out of notice though it remained forever in tune.

Demo lay slumped in the opposite corner, drinking down enough moonshine to kill a normal man. He was only mildly buzzed. If his one eye kept darting to the door, it was just a side effect of the alcohol.

Soldier was busying himself in the kitchen. The counter that separated the two rooms was strewn with rations dating back to World War One. With no-nonsense efficiency he organized the tin containers in the cupboards based on how much hot sauce it took to make them edible.

Scout was in what counted as the BLU supply room, residing between the main entrance and the living room. A large empty crate was laid on its side. He swung his bat with precision and sent a dozen makeshift baseballs flying into it before gathering them and starting again.

Sniper was holed up in the small crawlspace above the front door with his coffee mug and mason jars. His scope was not focused on the enemy base; instead it swung left to right and back again across the wasteland in between.

With the possible exception of Scout, none of them would ever admit that they were waiting up for their absent Spy. Their unspoken worry was fitting, as it was the unexpected soft spot Spy had developed for them that led to his capture at the hands of the RED medic. Things never end well when you care.

Except for those times it does just to prove you wrong.

I staggered in on still-weak legs somewhere around four in the morning.

I ignored the slight sounds of Sniper making his way out of the crawlway above my head; I was too tired and shaken to fight off whatever retribution he'd have in store if I suggested he gave a damn, so I kept my mockery to myself. I passed the open supply room doors without Scout noticing, the boy too intent on trying to knock the bottom out of the crate with his swings. When I stepped into the living room, Demo and Soldier tried not to look too interested in my safe return and both failed miserably.

Though I never would have thought it when I met him, Engineer is a very perceptive man. He could tell something was very off as soon as I entered his line of vision, but he said nothing. Instead he looked at me the way he'd look at a difficult piece of malfunctioning machinery as I sank to the couch and pulled out my cigarette case. The soothing smoke filling my lungs helped calm my nerves and my confused mind, though not by much.

"Okay, Spy," Engineer said at last, the slightest hint of concern creeping into his voice, "what happened out there?"

"I... am not sure." I replied. The look on his face said that wasn't nearly good enough. I took another long drag and tried to collect my thoughts.

Sniper must have tipped off the kid for Scout was suddenly bounding into the room with far too much energy for such a late hour. He flopped over the back of the couch and grinned at me.

"See, Engie? I told'ya he'd be back."

Engineer was still waiting for my answer. I still didn't know how to respond, so instead I removed a few dented and cracked components from my jacket and rolled them across the floor to him.

"Our Sniper did some damage today. These were left out on the medic's desk." And how much of a buffoon was I to not realize until I was climbing out? The whole ordeal could have been avoided... though I'm not entirely sure I would have wanted to avoid it. My hands _still_ trembled.

"Did you get laid or somethin'?"

Were I not the suave and steady gentleman that I am I would have dropped smoldering ash into my lap. Appearing suddenly, quickly, and without warning, thus is the way of Scout's fighting and his insights. He and Engineer were fully aware of my suppressed reaction. Soldier's clanging about with our rations decreased somewhat so he picked up on it too. No telling whether Demo was paying attention or if Sniper was still lurking within earshot.

With a long sigh forming a cloud of wispy white smoke before me, I decided to hell with it.

"The medic does not remember his dreams."

"Aw man," Scout exclaimed, slipping towards the front of the couch. "You mean it didn't work at all?"

"No, he remembered the 'dreams' I caused. Just not any others in his lifetime."

Engineer's grip on his wrench tightened.

"Yes," I nodded in confirmation, "he discovered me."

"_Whaaaaaaat_?" Scout asked in disbelief as he fell forward onto the taped cushions. He righted himself and looked at me with flabbergasted disbelief. "He _caught_ you!? How'd that happen?"

"He figured it out. Formulated a counteragent. Child's play really."

"So how'd you get away?" Scout asked with his copyright enthusiasm. "Get him in the kidneys? Pop him one on the back of the neck?"

It was only then I realized that his heart monitor must have been off for our _activities_ to go unnoticed. I should have killed him when I had the chance.

Ah well, spilt milk. And they were waiting for an answer. "He... let me go."

A long silence. "Come again?"

I frowned into the distance beyond those concrete walls, still incredulous myself. There was no possibility of my leaving that room alive and yet there I sat. Still breathing, still intact, unharmed aside from a few shallow lines on my skin. Were it not for those cuts I might have thought it all a dream.

Still too scattered to evade the question, and too tired to care, I simply told them what happened.

"Fag," came Demo's slurred conclusion when I reached the... 'fun' part. I was tempted to throw in a few juicy details just to see the look on his face, but decided against it. That memory was mine and mine alone.

"_Well_," Engineer said gruffly, cutting through my pondering, "he was still gonna kill you, right?"

I lit off another cigarette and considered the question.

"I can only guess why he let me go," I said at length, recalling the odd look on his face when he told me to get out. "Perhaps he was still raw from the realization that his feelings for their sniper would never be returned and clung to whatever he could." Finally regaining control enough to be the bastard I am, I looked over my shoulder at Demo. "Or maybe I was just that _good_ of a screw."

He said something unintelligible, and Soldier answered in agreement by banging around the ration tins and little harder than he usually did. I turned back and smiled to myself; I really was fortunate to be in this collection of lunatics. No other party had ever been as tolerant of my 'deviances.'

"So, Spy, how was he?"

I laughed out loud. There'd definitely never been a team as openly accepting. Scout asked the question as if I were just another member of his hometown baseball team, drinking a beer and talking about their girls in less than gentlemanly terms. He never ceased to surprise me.

"It was..." I said with some flourish, recalling the events to mind with the slightest hint of a lecherous smile, "It was the best of my life."

"Ain't that a disappointment?" Scout asked as the others drifted off to their own tasks and sleep. "If you're never gettin' any better than that?"

I tapped my temple. "Videographic memory." The reason why I was drafted into the espionage program. A helpful tool, both in the professional and personal worlds.

"Hah. Got ya own porn studio in your head, huh?" He leaned back and yawned sleepily. "You _would_ get off on a giant saw."

"It's a fair sight better than getting off on baking skills."

"You've obviously never had a good home cooked apple pie."

"What, better than sex?"

"Ehhh... they score the same."

I rolled my eyes, added another burn to the armrest, and stumbled off to my own room to recover. Tomorrow would be another day in BLU, with the added bonus of a pissed off German wielding toxic chemicals and jagged metal. I had no doubt that the momentary lapse in judgment that allowed my escape would not be repeated, and I would return with equal violence.

Besides, the affair would lose all its magic if any silly feelings appeared. It was nothing more or less than a gloriously lustful and honest meeting of two desperate bodies. Twisted, to be sure, but that's what made it _perfect_.


End file.
